


Open your eyes and it's gone

by renecdote



Series: hc_bingo 2017 [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, head injuries, hearing loss, this one is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: Damian wakes up in the hospital. Confused, disorientated and missing more than just one of his senses. A lot more.





	Open your eyes and it's gone

**Author's Note:**

> For the “hearing loss” square on my h/c bingo card. In which I throw out canon because Damian coming back with powers was ridiculous and I’m mad that we didn’t see him mourning Dick. Inspired largely by something Dick says to Damian’s grave in Nightwing #18: “Sorry... I’m not really good at this. And if you were here, I’m sure you’d point that out, too. ‘You know Grayson one of the perks of being dead is that I can’t here you.’ Or something.”

It’s too bright. Especially since the last thing he remembers is murky darkness. Murky darkness, the taste of blood, a blade through his abdomen. 

He’s... dead?

Does that mean there is an afterlife?

No. Fluorescent lights. Smell of antiseptic. Hospital. Not dead.

Damian blinks the blurry edge away from the word and sees his father. Bulky frame cramped in the bedside chair, head tipped back in sleep, snor-

No. That’s not right. He should be snoring. Damian can see the rise and fall of his chest, the movements of his mouth as he exhales, but he can’t hear any of the sounds his father usually makes in sleep. It doesn’t matter where he finally lets his mind and body rest, his father  _ always _ snores.

Damian sits up and the world swims. He must make a sound, it’s hard to tell between the vertigo and the buzzing in his ears, because when the world rights itself again, his father is awake and staring at him. He looks tired, haggard, but mostly  _ relieved _ .

Damian opens his mouth to ask what happened. 

And in the next seconds, any feelings of relief die an abrupt, silent death.

\--

He watches his father’s lips form the word  _ temporary _ . There had been other words as well, medical terminology and reassurances overlaid with carefully precise sign language, but temporary is the one Damian clings to.

“How long?” he asks and it's weird because he can feel the vibration of his voice box but all he can hear is a dull ringing in his ears.  _ Tinnitus.  _ That had been one of the first words his father had sounded out and Dr Thompkins had written on a medical chart.

A shared look between his father and the doctor, then fingers and lips say  _ it depends. _ Damian frowns, gaze falling from the rapt attention he has to pay to avoid missing anything going on around him, to stare at the soft blue blanket spread over his legs. It had been there when he woke up but it's not hospital issue. He suspects Grayson and it makes him wonder where his eldest brother is. He had been there before. And he always tries to come when Damian is injured. So where is he now?

Fingers drift into his field of vision and then his father is tipping his chin up, forcing Damian to look at him, to see what he's saying because  _ he can't hear it. _

“Are you okay?”

It's a stupid question so Damian ignores it. He's in Gotham General with a concussion severe enough to cause hearing loss (however temporary it may be); of course he's not okay. And if Father is asking whether he's okay  _ emotionally _ … Better to leave pesky concerns like that to Grayson. At least with him it doesn't feel stilted and forced. It doesn't feel unsettling, like Damian is being treated with kid gloves, like something is  _ wrong _ . Sometimes it's better when Father doesn't feel like he has to show how much he cares; then everything is normal and Damian doesn't have to worry that his life is about to fall apart.

“When can I leave?” Damian asks, gaze returning to Dr Thompkins. Father may command a room with his omniscient aura, but Damian knows who has the real power here. He knows who he has to convince that he’s fine.

There's another look, a brief heated exchange of words that he can't make out, then Dr Thompkins turns her head toward him as she says, “-row.” His father translates it into sign language when Damian just stares in confusion.  _ Tomorrow.  _ It is already seven p.m., which means it will probably be thirteen or fourteen hours until he's released. He lies back against the pillows stacked under his neck, pretending the prickle behind his eyes is from pain or exhaustion, not from feeling so helpless and overwhelmed. He has a sudden urge to be hugged, to be held securely in understanding arms until the rest of the world fades. (But the arms he wants aren’t here.)

His father’s hand is heavy on Damian head, thumb brushing over the edge of the stark white bandage wrapped around just above his ears. It's not a hug, but it is oddly comforting, lulling him towards sleep, and Damian turns his face toward the soothing motion. His father’s lips brush his temple when his eyes flutter closed. There’s no whispered assurance or promise that Damian cannot hear; his father never says “I love you” with words.

He falls asleep before he remembers to ask why Grayson hasn't come to visit him yet. It's unusual of his eldest brother not to be around to coddle.

\--

_ Titus lopes along beside him as he jogs, tail wagging and tongue lolling. He hasn’t left Damian’s side since he got back. _

_ (Where did he go?) _

_ They run down the driveway then loop around the edge of the Wayne Estate. The air is cool but fresh and Damian slows his gait, savouring the feeling of just being able to move and breathe again. _

_ (Why wouldn’t he be able to do those things?) _

_ His route inevitably takes him by the small cemetery in a grove at the back of the sprawling grounds. Titus veers away toward the headstones and Damian follows, drawn by something he can’t identify. It feels like routine. _

_ (Who would he come here to visit?) _

_ His grandparents’ headstones are weathered by age and he passes them with only a passing hello. He doesn’t bother with Todd’s; if he wanted to talk to him he could call. Then there’s another one, with a tall stone marker, but he can’t conjure the name on it no matter how hard he thinks. It is the polished granite beside it that he stops at. _

_ (No, no, no, no, nononono-) _

_ Dick Grayson. Son, Brother, Hero. “And sore must be the storm, That could abash the little Bird, That kept so many warm.” _

_ (NO!) _

\--

“Where's Grayson?” is the first question he asks when he wakes up a few hours later. He feels a moment of panic when all he hears is a high-pitched ringing but it fades as quickly as the last tendrils of the strange dream he’d had.

His father's face twists with fleeting pain before he smooths it out again. Drake has appeared sometime while Damian was sleeping, leaning over Bruce's shoulder as they both flick through something on a tablet, and he too looks like someone just kicked a puppy. Alarms go off in Damian’s head. Something is very wrong.

_ (A cool breeze, sunlight glinting off granite, tears hidden against Titus’s fur- _

_ No. That had been a dream. Vivid, tangible, realistic, but only a dream _ **_._ **

_ Right?) _

“What happened to Grayson?” Damian demands, ignoring the way his head throbs when he sits up too fast, ignoring the blur of his vision and the screech in his ears as his brain fails to process the sound of his own voice.

His father’s hands reach out toward him, intending to comfort and placate, and Damian scoots back out of their reach. He doesn’t want to be _comforted_ or _placated_. He wants to know what’s going on. _He wants to know_ _where his brother is_.

“Tell me!” The scream tears at his vocal chords. Drake and his father both flinch. “Tell me where he is!”

His father’s lips form “Damian” and “calm down” and he’s on the edge of the bed now, pulling Damian into his arms. Damian thrashes but his father is strong, holding him against his chest as it vibrates with things like “shh” and “it’s okay” and “everything’s gonna be fine”. But everything isn’t going to be fine. Damian knows it because  _ Grayson isn’t here _ and his father won’t tell him why. 

He  _ needs _ to know  _ why. _

“Tim…” he pleads. Soft and broken.    
  
And, between the tone and the use of his first name, Drake cracks. 

But surely Damian isn’t reading his lips right because… because it  _ can’t _ be that. Grayson  _ can’t _ be dead. He would know if Grayson had died. And.. And why is  _ he _ here if he did die in that lobby?  _ Why doesn’t he remember? _

_ Post-traumatic amnesia. Muddled memories. _ Those are the other phrases that the doctors had thrown around after he’d woken up here. Damian had thought he’d only lost a day or two before the injury (a fall during training, he’d been told, but now he wonders how much of what his father has said is lies). Not a whole  _ week _ . A week and however long he hadn’t even been alive.

( _ How much of that time _ , he wonders,  _ has Grayson not been alive either? Why did I come back when he didn’t? Why couldn’t I stay with him? _ )

It was bad enough that the concussion had taken his hearing, leaving him lost and confused. But knowing that it has taken his memories as well, that he’s reliving this pain again… he closes his eyes, shutting out apologies and explanations. He sags back against his father’s chest, presses his ear above his heart and imagines he can hear the beat. Imagines it’s another beat. Strong and loving and  _ alive _ .

If Grayson were here, he’d say something like “well one perk to hearing loss is that you don’t have to listen to my annoying voice anymore, right?”. And Damian would smile and roll his eyes and let his older brother cheer him up. 

But his older brother isn’t here. Will never be able to cheer him up again.

And in this silent world, in this silent hospital, in this silent room, his sobs feel unbearably loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed, or come yell at me on tumblr [here](tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
